


Broken Vow

by awkward_ace



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Gen, Mild Smut, Modern Thedas, Other, Priests, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-27 23:12:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16711837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkward_ace/pseuds/awkward_ace
Summary: He made the vows, and is ready to keep them, to give his life. All he wants is one night for himself. One night isn't so much to ask--one night is enough.Isn't it?





	Broken Vow

**Author's Note:**

> Heeeey, y'all!
> 
> So, I don't know that this needs a warning, per-say, but if you find yourself to be particularly religious or deeply upset and offended at the idea of priests leaving the priesthood and that sort of thing, then please STOP READING THIS HERE THING RIGHT NOW AND JUST WALK AWAY, LOVELIES. THIS IS NOT FOR YOU. I know religion and religious leaders can be a super hot subject to deal with in any shape, and I want to spare anyone who cares deeply about it any discomfort. I did my best to handle this gently.
> 
> Everyone else, please continue, and enjoy.

“Wait.”

Cullen’s fingers brushed gently over Pria’s, sketching over rings and knuckles and slipping under them to touch the band of black lace that circled her thigh. “Leave them,” he whispered breathlessly, “I like them.”

He felt her lips smile under his and her hand tracked back up his arm to his shoulder. “Yes, _ser_ ,” she murmured playfully and he laughed airily as he kissed her again, drunk with the smell and taste of her and giddy with how pliantly her mouth opened to him, how willingly she followed the gentle tug and pull of his hands as he adjusted where he wanted her.

Her breath rushed out sharply, warm against his skin, and he heard her moan softly as his lips trailed from hers to map along her jaw and down her neck, catching little tastes of her with his tongue and leaving behind faint pink spots with his teeth, her head tipping back as her back arched faintly.

_I love you_ , he told her silently with every press of his mouth against her skin. _I love you._

One night. What was one night in the span of a life? One night when there were decades yet to come, decades that he could serve faithfully. Hundreds of sermons to give, thousands of prayers and blessings and sacraments to oversee. Surely one night was not something he could be damned for in the face of all the other days and nights to come that she would not be in.

_One night won’t be enough_ , a little voice somewhere inside him whispered, a familiar one that whispered true things all the time. He ignored it. One night would _have_ to be enough.

“ _Cullen_ ,” she panted as he trailed down her breast and further, biting gently at her side and sliding his hands reverently along her lovely long, strong legs. “May I?” he asked softly, pressed his lips against her stomach above the waistband of her underwear. He felt her shiver under him, heard her chuckle breathily, “Please do. You’re driving me a little crazy.”

“Am I?” he mused innocently, nuzzling his cheek against her belly, stubble rasping against her skin. She shivered again and squirmed, laughing again, “Cullen Stanton Rutherford!” He grinned widely and gave her thigh a playful squeeze, “Hm. Full name. I must be in trouble.”

“Keep teasing me and you will be.”

“Such ferocity, _álainn._ ”

She grumbled something in Elvhen at him, something he assumed was probably a touch rude, and he snickered quietly and kissed her stomach again, nipping softly before carefully taking the elastic between his teeth and pulling it down slowly, making a playful, growling sort of sound as she smiled and laughed.

Once he tossed her underwear aside, he sat back on his heels for a moment to look at her, drank in how the moonlight pooled on the bed through the open blinds and how it gleamed off the gold chain around her waist and her copper skin. How the winding tattoos along her sides and thighs turned deep emerald, how the animals hidden in the curl of vines and branches seemed to come to life; the snake at her knee coiled lazily around it, bronze-and-black scales glimmering. The panther on her ribs peered out from between broad leaves, golden eyes gleaming.

He found his breath caught in his chest as he looked at her, naked and stretched out in a luxuriously comfortable sprawl on her bed, sheets rumpled and tangled under her. She seemed an ancient goddess in the moonlight, her eyes glowing a faint green in the soft darkness. “Cullen?” she murmured curiously after several long moments, lifting herself up on her elbows. “You alright?”

“More than I have been in a long while,” he replied softly, worshipfully as he carefully ran his hand along a swirl of ivy that danced down her calf.

Her legs spread further as he leaned down, starting reverent, warm kisses at her ankle and moving up, listening to her quiet, pleased sigh and low hum of approval as he drew her thighs over his shoulders and finally tasted her, soft and careful strokes of his tongue soon replaced by a hungry _need_ for the taste of her that only grew as her moans of pleasure strengthened and soon he was devouring her, drinking her in as if he had been denied food and water for days on end.

Her hips and back arched and curled, her heels pressing into his back as her hands tangled into his hair, his scalp tingling pleasantly as she pulled faintly. “ _Cullen_ ,” she groaned and panted huskily as she came undone, an animalistic moan following as her climax took her. He only pulled back, reluctantly, when she slumped into the mattress, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and peppering gentle, loving kisses up her belly and chest, tasting salt from her sweat and finding it almost as intoxicating as the musk of her, the mint-honey taste of her lips. _I love you_.

“Spirits,” she breathed shakily as he came to her neck, kissing her pulse. “Alright?” he murmured against her skin. _I love you._

Pria laughed breathlessly and wound her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her. “I’m alright, Honey-tongue,” she purred quietly and bit at his lip, tugging it into her mouth and sucking at it teasingly. Cullen shivered and moaned and melted into her as she kissed him. _Sweetness._

He lost track of everything but kissing her, tilting his head to reclaim her mouth every time their lips parted even for an instant, willingly falling further into her warm embrace as her legs slid around his hips and thighs.

A loud, rough groan escaped him with a shudder, abruptly calling him back to himself as her hand found him, hard and hot, and began to stroke and gently pump his aching cock. “Is this okay?” she whispered, lips feathering against his and leaving them tingling. A lance of heady pleasure shot up his back as she gave a gentle squeeze and his breath hitched, “ _Maker,_ yes.”

Her answering chuckle was low and throaty before her teeth found their way along his jaw to nibble at his earlobe. He moaned and thrust against her hand, his own sliding down her thigh and tucking under the band of lace around it, squeezing tightly. “Pria,” he panted, half-choking when her thumb flicked and circled his head and static sparks flooded through him, “ _Ah_! _Fuck_ —Sweetness, _please_ —”

He whimpered faintly in protest as her hand stilled. “You should finish getting undressed,” she crooned into his ear. She laughed at the low growl she got in reply, laughter that was muffled by a bruising kiss and chiding, rough bite to her neck before he pulled away to finish unfastening his jeans and tug them and his boxers off.

He shivered as her hands ghosted up his spine, felt her mouth flutter kisses over the back of his neck and shoulder. “Hey, gorgeous,” she purred and growled playfully against his skin before digging her teeth into his pulse. Cullen gasped at the sharp shock of pleasure that bolted through him, intensified by the sting of pain from her teeth. “Alright?” she asked after releasing him, her arms wrapping around his waist. He swallowed roughly and nodded.

“Harder,” he told her hoarsely. There was a moment of hesitation from her and then he felt another shock of pain-pleasure that had him groaning raggedly and sinking back against her, head tilting to the side as she bit down again and followed with teasing, jagged sucks of his skin. He was a shivering, trembling mess by the time she stopped with a careful, gentle sweep of her tongue over the spot, his erection straining and almost painful.

“Still okay?” her breath tickled as she nuzzled under his ear, her hands sketching up to rest on his chest. He huffed a breathless laugh and turned to face her once more, his hand finding its way back to her thigh, under the band of lace. “Yes,” he replied softly before leaning in and kissing her deeply, guiding her leg around his waist as she let herself fall back against the mattress, bringing him down with her.

_One night. Just one night._

Her arms encircled him, holding him tightly to her and he nipped softly at her lip, memorizing the shape of it with a sweep of his tongue, etched how it felt to have her breasts and stomach pressed seamlessly into his, her legs tangled with his. _I love you_.

With a slight shift and a careful roll of his hips, he slid himself inside her and all at once heat and pleasure swamped over him as they moaned. He lost track of where his skin ended and hers began, lost himself again in the smell and taste of her, in the _feel_ of her under and around him.

_This is where you belong_ , the tiny, often-ignored voice whispered. _One night won’t be enough._

He ignored it, again, in favor of listening to the voice of the elf in bed with him.

*-*-*-*

He had woke a little before dawn to a shower of soft kisses all over his face and neck and shoulders, tangled with her and the sheets, warm and content. He returned the warm smile she gave him and returned the shower of kisses quite happily, hands sketching admiringly, worshipfully all along her slight curves and supple skin, caressing places that made her sigh pleasurably and tickling gently here and there simply to make her laugh.

Then she rose over him, gliding her hands along the planes of muscle in his stomach and chest and arms, kissed and caressed places that had him murmuring softly in pleasure and tugging her down against him. She nibbled the dark red mark she’d left on his neck, left a gentler one on his collar and then rode him with languid, deep undulations of her hips until they were both spent. They lay together in the early morning light, curled around one another until pink and orange skies gave way to blue and brightening.

_One night. It was enough. It has to be._

“You can use my shower, if you want,” she offered quietly, voice a little muffled from where she was burrowed against his shoulder. Cullen shook his head, “No. Thank you—I’ll shower at my flat. I’ll have to change anyway.”

“Would you at least stay for a cup of tea?”

_I’d stay forever._

“Tea would be wonderful.”

“Then tea I will make,” she said, pulling back from him to sit up and stretch her arms over her head. He watched her back arch admiringly before sitting up and pressing a kiss to her shoulder. _I love you_. “You don’t have to right this moment,” he coaxed, running the back of his fingers over her arm and side, “Stay in bed a little longer.”

_Our night isn’t over until we get out of this bed._

Pria smiled and leaned into him, rubbed her nose against his, “The longer I stay in bed, the more tempted I’ll be to keep you here all day.”

“Be a little tempted, then.” Cullen kissed her, soft and sweet and with a little heat behind it. “Please, Sweetness,” he whispered.

She hesitated, even leaned further into him, let him pull her closer before shaking her head. “No,” she said, “You’ll be more likely to run into nosy busy-bodies on your way back. I won’t have you dealing with prying gossips.”

He sighed heavily and rested his forehead against her temple. “I hate it when you have glaringly good points,” he muttered. Her hand settled behind his neck, gently tangling in his hair as she turned her head just enough to kiss him, “Right now, so do I.” He leaned into another soft kiss that ended too soon for his liking and watched her disentangle herself from the blankets before sliding out of the bed.

_And just like that. One night is over._

Another heavy sigh escaped him and he forced his suddenly heavy body to free itself of blankets and also rise, finding discarded boxers and jeans to pull them on. She picked up a sundress that was tossed carelessly into the window seat and pulled it on, smoothing it over her hips. “Hm,” she humming thoughtfully, looking down at her thighs and the lacey bands that still circled them, “I forgot I was wearing those.”

“Wait.”

His hand gently skimmed over the back of hers as she leaned down slightly to remove one and she looked up at him curiously. “Allow me?” he asked quietly, moving slowly to kneel in front of her, his hand moving from hers to the band, gently hooking into it. He waited as she blinked and then nodded before leaning in to kiss her skin, lips trailing lingeringly over her thigh as he carefully pulled the band down, only pulling away to delicately lift her foot and slip it free before turning his attention to her other thigh and repeating his actions, letting his lips linger as they traced a curl of ivy.

“You’re tempting me again,” she informed him somewhat breathily by the time he was done and he looked up at her with a rueful, lop-sided smile. “I want you to remember this fondly,” he replied, ghosting his hand back up her leg and gently kissing the swell of her hip over her dress. _I want you to remember **me**._

He stood, smoothing the bands flat and offering them to her. She was smiling slightly, and eyeing them and him before accepting them after a moment. Then she surprised him by tossing one onto the bed and taking his hand to gently loop the other around his wrist twice, smoothing it flat. “I want you to remember this fondly, too,” she murmured and kissed his knuckles, fingers tangled through his.

Cullen felt himself go red and he swallowed through the tight knot in his throat. No one had ever kissed his hands before, and he hadn’t realized how much he was _into it_ until her soft mouth brushed his skin, as delicate as the lace token that now hugged his wrist. A memento. A private little reminder of their night.

All he could think about as he stared at it was how it had felt banding over his knuckles as his hand clutched at her thigh while he’d pleasured her with his mouth and body.

_I love you, Pria Lavellan_.

The words were right there, right at the back of his tongue, fighting and clawing to come forward and to spill out.

But he shouldn’t. _Couldn’t._ It wouldn’t be fair to her to tell her such a thing, not when his life was bound elsewhere. So he swallowed them down, thickly, and with effort as they stuck and stung and scratched.

“How could I not?” he said, instead, and watched her grin playfully. “I _am_ pretty amazing,” she replied and he laughed and pulled her close to hug her tightly, an embrace that was returned. They stood like that for several long moments before he felt her relax and begin to step back; he released her with reluctance.

“Tea?” she asked, and he nodded. “Yes,” he said, “With honey, please.”

*-*-*-*

The door to his flat snapping shut behind him was loud and final and somewhat judgmental and it made him flinch. The flat seemed small and almost too quiet and _empty_ as he locked the door and looked around. Empty and decidedly _bare_ and dull and…cold, if he was honest. Nothing like the colorful warmth that suffused Pria’s bungalow, the air of _welcome_ and _make yourself at home_ that radiated from every plush pillow and from the constant scent of spices and baking.

His flat wasn’t even welcoming or warm in the way Haldir’s was, with its smells of fresh coffee grounds and good cologne, the sound of an opera or the football game playing quietly in the background to the gentle, loving bickering and banter that bounced between the elf and Dorian and Bull. The offer of lazy, comfortable lounging that was exuded by plush, oversized chairs, cushions and couch.

His flat was just practical and functional, with barely anything in it at all that would mark it as his, aside from his chess set, his case of books, and a handful of framed pictures that stood awkwardly on the bar of the kitchen. The walls were still decorated from that last priest who had lived here, wood paneled along the bottom and the top half papered with an atrocious green paisley pattern. The furniture was the same dark wood, heavy monstrosities that were several decades out of style.

Cullen shook his head, pushing such thoughts away and hung his keys by the door before walking quickly to his bedroom and into the bathroom, stripping along the way and tossing his clothes into the hamper. He paused in front of the mirror as he gently set the lace band down on the counter, the mark on his neck catching his attention; he stared for a long moment before his hand lifted and he gently traced his fingertips over the bruise, shivering at the sensitive tingle of it.

Her mark. Evidence of their loving on his skin.

_One night. It was enough. It has to be._

He forced his hand away from it, instead smoothing it over his face, judging the stubble growth. He needed to shower, and then he needed to shave. So he started the hot water and stepped in, scrubbing skin and hair clean with the same quick, thorough precision that the military had drilled into him.

He didn’t think about how he was washing her scent from his skin. He didn’t think about how he was scrubbing away her kisses and the lingering feel of her touch. He didn’t think about how he would never be able to hold her tightly against him again, to dance with her, to flirt and tease and kiss and touch. He didn’t think about their night being washed clean from his body and careening down the drain with the soap lather.

He didn’t think about how this was the first morning of many he would spend alone as he toweled dry and shaved. He didn’t think about how it felt to have her fingers tangling in his hair as he combed and styled it, taming the curls back ( _I love your curls,_ she’d said _, they’re pretty! And I sorta have a thing for blondes)_. He didn’t think about how she would eventually have someone else’s toothbrush (not _his_ ) beside hers at the sink as he brushed his teeth.

He _did_ think about how lace looked against her skin as he reverently wound the band around his wrist again. How _this_ lace had looked against the copper of her skin and the bright colors of her tattoos. How his heart had stuttered when he’d first seen it, when she’d flipped the hem of her dress up for a moment in order to pull her bank card from under one of the bands, how his breath had caught when she’d tossed him a flirty grin at catching him staring. _One night was enough._

He didn’t think about how his closet would never house her colorful, floating skirts and tailored, jaw-droppingly _impeccable_ suits as he pulled out monochrome black pants and shirt. He didn’t think about how his dresser would never house her ridiculous rainbow striped toe-socks and her adorably patterned underwear as he pulled out a plain undershirt, boxers, and black socks. He didn’t think about how he would never have someone standing near him as they both dressed, teasing and making the process difficult for one another with playful grabs and kisses. He didn’t think about how he would never have someone to help him fasten his cuffs as he buttoned his dark sleeves, hiding her lace band away from the world, his own little secret.

He didn’t think about any of these things.

At least, he didn’t _really_ think about any of these things until he turned again to the dresser and to the mirror that sat on top of it. To the little plate that held a rosary of worn wooden beads, a golden band marked with the flaming sun of the Chantry, and the clerical collar of white, stiff fabric that tucked into his shirt at his throat.

He thought about those things when his eyes landed on the ring and the collar.

_One night._

And those things all came roaring into his mind, along with the smell of Pria’s skin and the sound of her laughter. The comfortable ease that he felt when he was with her, how simple it was to just _be_ with her, to talk to her about anything and everything. How his heart jumped in his chest when he saw her, how his stomach turned itself over with butterflies and twisted into knots. How he liked to see her smile and how he wanted to be the one who made her smile, who could make her laugh. How easily he laughed and smiled around her.

_One night._

Cullen’s vision swam as he stared at the ring and the collar, the things that marked him as bound to the Chantry, his life locked neatly away in service, tied up with prettily worded vows. Vows he had broken the night before and again not two hours past. Vows that he _should_ feel sorrow and regret for breaking. Vows that should have him rushing to Mother Giselle to confess his sins and receive his penance.

Instead he only felt his chest constricting, his breath coming in short and quick as his eyes burned with angry, resentful tears. His fists clenched tightly, nails digging into his palms as he glared hatefully at the symbols of his station.

Married to the Chantry. Married to his work. A life of service and spreading the Word, a life of teaching the Chant and about the Maker and his prophet-bride. A celibate life, with no room for love and romance. A family.

A life that kept him from things that he had though he would never know, and now they were _so close_ and yet just out of his reach. If only he had met her three years sooner.

_One night._

With a frustrated, agonized roar, Cullen swiped the plate from the dresser, flinging it to the side with a crash and the shattering of porcelain. The rosary clattered to the floor near the collar. His ring dinged against the hard wood and rolled along the baseboard before spinning to a stop near the book case.

Cullen didn’t see or hear it. He had slumped to his knees on the floor, hunched over with his hands tangled harshly in his hair, tears streaming silently down his face as he stared hollowly at the drawer handles.

He was very certain of three things—one, being married to his work now left an ashy taste in his mouth: two, he was very much in love with Pria Lavellan, to the point that everything in him sang for her: and three—three hurt the most, because the little voice, as it often was, was right.

One night with her _was not_ enough.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Right. This work...well, it's a small part of a very loose story that I'm trying to figure out. But it started as an idea and it's an idea that has some personal things for me and I think grew from a memory I have from when I was a kid.
> 
> I was born and raised Catholic. Shocking, I know, and I will be the first to tell you that I have taken a very hard and deliberate leap off that train, for many reasons. This is not the place for that discussion.
> 
> However! There was one priest, when I was growing up, that I remember all the kids really liked. An Irish fellow, very kind, and generous, funny as hell, and he always, always, always had time to answer a question if you saw him walking and stopped him. He also really liked kids; he was the sort of guy that you look at and say "That guy should have been a dad."
> 
> This priest caused quite a stink in our church because he did leave the priesthood. He met a woman, and fell in love, and he decided that his calling was a life with her, and a family, instead of his vows to the church. And people were so very, very angry at him for that. I didn't understand why it was so bad that he was leaving the priesthood, because sure, even if he made promises, surely, SURELY, this gentle and understanding invisible man in the sky they'd been trying to teach us about would totally Get It and be Totally Cool with this man finding something as amazing as a partner to love.
> 
> I still don't understand why people got so angry about it, and I don't think I ever will. And sometimes I still think about that priest and I hope he's happy and has amazing kids and that his marriage is a good one.
> 
> Anyway, that's where this comes from, I think--what would it be like, to have sworn your life away in service, only to discover something lovely and powerful and it's something you can't have. How would someone deal with that? At what point do vows start to mean less, and when they do, what do you do?


End file.
